So, I've had this for a while, and since I just updated some of my other work, I figured I might keep the trend going, while enjoying my time in France (which is warm, but not, as yet, too hot. I am well pleased). It's... well, Qui-Gon's doing a lot of thinking, though he's not the only one.
Qui-Gon looks down at Rachel Summers and worries. He has laid her down on one of the ship's beds, having fended off enquiries from Padme, Jar-Jar, and 'Threepio', Anakin's homemade protocol droid. The latter caught his attention not for the rather remarkable feat of his design (primarily Anakin's), or indeed his somewhat neurotic personality, but for the reaction that he doesn't get. Namely, he seems to be just about the only droid that Rachel seems to like.
Or rather, he inwardly amends, he is the only one that she subtly doesn't flinch at, something he had noticed before and after the pod-race. That said, he believes she will be relatively unbothered by the Nubian astromech, R2-D2, the model's design giving it an almost child-like quality. Still, she doesn't merely dislike droids, the way that Obi-Wan does. No, there is more to it, Qui-Gon thinks, which is particularly curious given that Shmi is more than comfortable with them, and Anakin positively loves them. It bears thinking about.
This observation is one of a number he's made. He's been paying close attention to Rachel, especially once he realised who she was, and he's noticed that she tends to keep an oddly close eye on even relatively harmless droids – especially the humanoid ones. Qui-Gon takes this observation (along with a few other things that she's said and that he has extrapolated) and tucks it away in the back of his head, along with the germinating theory that it has fed. He has enough headaches to be dealing with right now, starting with her stunning case of Force Shock.
He has done what he can for her by putting her in a healing trance. Doing that had cost him serious effort, even unconscious as she was, with rudimentary shields at best. He is not sure whether that is a compliment to her sheer power, or a rather worrying sign of how tired he is.
She is currently being fussed over by her mother – or at least, insofar as that is possible when said mother is also caring for her son, and managing a small migraine. That is a feeling that he recognises, one that half-confirms a theory he had going, and he exhales slowly, trying to quell his own splitting headache. Behind him, he can sense his Padawan propped against the wall and doing much the same thing, and turns to help.
It is affecting Obi-Wan more than him, more than anyone but Anakin, who is crying the soft, stifled tears of someone who cannot stop but fears to draw attention to themself. Part of this is because Qui-Gon has more experience, both in weathering such explosions in the Force and in building his defences against them. Part of it is because even at such a tender age, Obi-Wan is simply a more powerful Jedi than he is (and Qui-Gon is no lightweight), one of the strongest of his generation, and correspondingly more sensitive.
"Master," Obi-Wan groans. "Are you…" He trails off, blinking, before his eyes come into sharpened, forced focus. That is Obi-Wan to the bone, Qui-Gon thinks with wry fondness, always putting a strong face on things. "Are you alright? And the boy? The girl?"
"I am well, Padawan, and more concerned about your welfare than my own," Qui-Gon says. "Miss Summers is in a trance, the best I could put her in. As for young Anakin, I was about to offer to do the same, once I had assured myself of your good health."
"Good might be stretching it, Master, but I am perfectly healthy," Obi-Wan says, not quite concealing a sudden wince.
Qui-Gon is a little sceptical, but from what he can tell of Obi-Wan's somewhat ragged Force presence, this is true – he'll be fine with some extensive meditation. So, he nods. "You're doing better than I did after my first real bout of Force Shock, you know," he says.
Obi-Wan looks up sharply, and there's a flutter of relief and surprise there. Qui-Gon knows he is responsible for the former, a feature across Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, and deeply regrets it. He nearly had not taken Obi-Wan as his Padawan, rejecting him. While he had… well. He wouldn't call them good reasons, but certainly, he had had unresolved issues with his former, fallen Padawan (and that was something that concerned him, because on a visceral level he could feel the difference between a mere dark-sider, even a Fallen Jedi, and what he had just faced, and its scope disturbed him deeply).
He could only be thankful that he had got a second chance to recognise Obi-Wan for what he was – not just a powerful presence in the Force, or even a potentially great Jedi, but someone he would be proud to raise.
"You are," he insists, and chuckles. "I was flat on my back for quite some time. My Master was not impressed."
Though in truth, he thinks, Yan Dooku had rarely been impressed by anything. It was one quality that he had long sought to cultivate, and his emulation of it… well. It had not been one of his better qualities, and it remained an unfortunate reflex at times. A Jedi was meant to be calm and serene in the face of the extraordinary, not borderline disdainful in the face of otherwise very ordinary.
"And," he adds. "It was nowhere near as bad as this."
Obi-Wan absorbs this, then his calm and collected Padawan's smooth mask slides into place, and he bows his head in brief and grateful acknowledgement. Qui-Gon claps him on the shoulder briefly, then turns to Anakin.
As he does, he muses that it is both impressive and a little worrying how easily Obi-Wan can slip into the role of the 'perfect' Jedi. It is a false view entirely – yes, the Jedi are disciplined, but they are not emotionless. They are allowed to feel, to care, even to show it. Obi-Wan is overcompensating. Yet he takes heart in the fact that it is over-compensation and his Padawan is not merely the carved statue (or perhaps 'well disguised protocol droid' to use the less than flattering phrasing of Padawan Tachi) that he appears to be.
Under that mask, he has a good heart, a well-hidden passion for life, a wry and teasing sense of humour, and a developing wisdom that may not always parallel that of the Jedi Council as it is now, for all that he rebukes Qui-Gon for disrespecting that august body. Yes, his Padawan will be a great Jedi, Qui-Gon thinks. Once, at least, he stops trying to act like one.
Anakin is still crying, and Qui-Gon feels a little guilty. Not for reassuring Obi-Wan, but for taking the time to do so before he addressed the younger boy. It is worse than he thought. He crouches down beside the boy, firmly ensconced in his mother's lap despite the fact that he's probably getting to be too big to do that, and doesn't waste time with pleasantries. While Anakin's condition is far from critical, he is not well, and likely not up to conversation.
Instead, he makes to press a hand against Anakin's temple like a priest's benediction, before looking up enquiringly at Shmi Skywalker. After a moment, she flicks her gaze at her daughter, then back at him, question clear in her eyes. He nods, and she relaxes a little, nodding her permission. Qui-Gon closes his eyes and lays his hand against Anakin's brow.
Immediately, he comes into direct contact with the boy's tempestuous and overturned Force presence, roiling about in turmoil and discomfort, burned by Light and scathed by Darkness, unable to find an equilibrium. To his concern, Qui-Gon realises that it is taking every bit of Anakin's not inconsiderable strength of will to keep it from pouring out. In a youngling of Anakin's strength and age, this is both impressive and worrying.
Carefully, he presses against Anakin's mind, not trying to force anything, just to let him know he's there. Anakin's feelings go from frightened, hesitant, darting things to frozen, before relaxing slightly in recognition and frantically trying to push him out.
The boy is trying to prevent him from getting hurt, Qui-Gon realises in wonder and compassion (later, he reviews this and realises that Rachel has clearly taught him more than a little about mental connections and the fragility of minds). After a moment of recalibration, allowing Anakin to settle a little, he lets both flow across the impromptu link along with admiration for his compassion, a gentle declining of the need, and a strong note of reassurance, a sense of calm-helping-experience.
Anakin relaxes, slowly, cautiously, and Qui-Gon responds in kind, slow and steady, almost showing Anakin what he is doing, as he is doing it. After what could be either minutes or hours, the boy's mental presence is more or less reordered, enough that he is ready for a trance and a rest that will let his mind do the rest. Eventually, the boy gratefully drifts off, slipping under like he is used to it – and given his sister's mental gifts, he quite possibly is.
Qui-Gon pulls himself back and sways briefly, before catching himself on the chair that Shmi is sitting in – or more accurately, on her leg.
"Your pardon, Lady Skywalker," he murmurs, before yawning unexpectedly. "And your pardon again," he says ruefully.
"None is needed, Master Jinn," Shmi Skywalker says, and though her words are smooth, if tired, he can detect the spike of discomfort around his title. Associations strike again, he thinks sadly.
"Please, call me Qui-Gon," he says.
She smiles, brief but real, and there is a knowing look in her eyes, mixed with mild surprise, and a hint of gratitude. He suspects that whether it is through some Force talent of her own, or simple perceptiveness, she knows what he noticed. Of course, he is also tired, and not in a mood for dissembling, so it wasn't as if he was trying to be anything more than sincere.
"Then you must call me Shmi," she says, carefully levering her son off her lap and into bed beside his sister, who he immediately snuggles up to. While Rachel is supposedly completely dead to the universe, an arm twitches to bring him closer – either a very well ingrained reflex, or a sign that her subconscious is more active than he suspected.
"Is your fellow Jedi all right?" Shmi asks as soon as they have left the room, and while she is not more than a decade older than Obi-Wan, there is a mother's concern there. It probably does not hurt that he does not look any older than Rachel, even though he has at least a couple of years on her.
"He is," Qui-Gon assures her. "I went to check on him immediately after I had Rachel settled." He frowns a little. "I would have attended to Anakin, too, but I thought that his reaction was merely to the immediate shock, rather than something more extended. And, I must admit, Obi-Wan is my Padawan – my student – and has been these last ten years." He smiles ruefully. "He is almost a Knight, and arguably more accomplished than many who already are, but you could say that I am used to worrying for him."
Shmi smiles a small smile of her own. "I understand," she says, and he rather believes that she does.
"Your daughter was very brave," he says, after a period of companionable silence. "That Zabrak was exceptionally dangerous. And his presence… well." He glances at Rachel. "You can see how it affected her."
Shmi nods, looking troubled. "Will it do any permanent damage?" she asks.
"No," Qui-Gon says. "I don't think it will. I won't pretend that there isn't a risk; Force Shock can have lasting side-effects, and while I have my share of experience, I am not a healer. However, my experience includes more encounters with the Dark Side than most Jedi, and from what I can tell, your daughter will be fine. She is quite resilient."
"Yes," Shmi says. She takes her daughter's outstretched hand, and a note of quiet pride is clear in her voice. "She is." She looks up at Qui-Gon. "You referred to the Dark Side, that the Zabrak was part of it." She regards him carefully. "He wielded the weapon of a Jedi."
Qui-Gon nods and considers his response. "The Dark Side is not an organisation," he says eventually. "It is not a group, a religion, or, really, an affiliation of any kind. Many would dispute the latter, including many dark-siders. But in my opinion, to describe it as such diminishes what it is, and that… that is a grave mistake."
He gathers his thoughts and sighs.
"The Jedi have studied the Force for tens of thousands of years. Other sects have done so for nearly as long; others, perhaps even longer. However, there are still arguments about the nature of the Force beyond its most basic. To describe a fraction of them would take a lifetime, and it is hardly relevant here."
He shakes his head.
"I think that the simplest and most functional way to describe the Dark Side, and those who wield it, is as a perversion of the Force," he says. "Accessed through anger and hatred, fear and pain, dark-siders cause and thrive off of the suffering of others. They embrace darkness in the belief that it is a route to greater power, whether through destruction of their enemies, dominance of whatever they wish to rule, or both."
"So, a desire for power," Shmi says thoughtfully.
"That is often a motive," Qui-Gon agrees. "Though the Dark Side is more insidious than that. It is rarely a simple process of deciding to be evil. The embrace of the Dark Side is often born of suffering and loss, or fear of the same, and corruption is a steady process. It usually starts with doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, a belief that the end justifies the means, no matter how terrible those means might be. Eventually, the ends become as twisted as the means, good intentions devoured by a lust for power. And the Dark Side is seductive. It is not stronger than the Light, but it is quicker and easier to master, and it responds to stress, fear, and anger. That temptation has ensnared more than a few cornered or desperate Jedi in the past. Some… some that I knew well. Or that I thought I did."
"Was that Zabrak a… Dark Jedi?" Shmi asks after a moment.
Qui-Gon smiles a grim smile. "No," he says. "That is often the term used to describe dark-siders, especially those with Jedi training, such as that one. But no, I would not say so. I have fought and felt a number of dark-siders in my life. Some have fallen into the Dark Side by themselves, some were raised in cults worshipping the Dark Side, and others were indeed Fallen Jedi. I can recognise the differences. That one is different to them all."
Shmi looks unsurprised by this, and he wonders at that. Does she expect such things of a Jedi, as most on the Outer Rim do? Or is this an assumption born of her daughter's sensitivity? If the latter, just how far does that sensitivity go?
A lot of questions, Qui-Gon thinks, none of which can yet be answered.
"Then what is he?" Shmi asks, and there is a glint of fear as he shoots an enquiring look down at her, a fear that she has overstepped. But it is set aside by brittle defiance, founded on an overriding… ah. That is why she is asking.
"I don't know," he admits. "Not for certain. I have my theories, but…" He sighs, and blinks as she takes his arm, looking up at him with a shrewd compassion.
"You are afraid," she says suddenly, both understanding and genuinely surprised.
"No, I –" Qui-Gon begins reflexively, hesitating in the face of Shmi's distinct disbelief. He could brush her off (politely), go and find somewhere to meditate on this, rationally considering his findings. After a moment, he does what he always tells his Padawan to do: to examine his feelings. What he finds troubles him. "Yes," he says eventually. "I suppose I am. Not of the Zabrak himself, but of what he may represent."
"What is that?" Shmi asks, careful and intent. She wants to know what may be threatening her children, and Qui-Gon can well understand that. After all, if this is what he thinks it is, who he thinks it is, then they will be among those who have the most to fear.
"Something that I will not speak of," Qui-Gon says quietly. "Not here. Names may not have the kind of power that myths and spacer's tales claim, but they have power all the same." He looks at Shmi. "I am sure that you have a rich and varied mythology on Tatooine. Tales that teach lessons. Tales that warn children of dangers. And tales… tales that preserve memories of things that must not be forgotten, even if you would much rather that they were. Things that your ancestors faced, and that you still fear, for all that they are supposed to be dead – the monsters in the dark, and the ghosts in the night."
"Yes," Shmi says quietly, gazing at him. "We do. As, I think, do the Jedi."
Qui-Gon nods.
"And that Zabrak… you believe that he is part of one of those stories," Shmi continues.
"I believe that he is a new player in one of them," Qui-Gon says quietly. "One of the oldest… and by far the worst."
"I see," Shmi says, and her hands belie her calm tone, white knuckles standing out. As they do, Qui-Gon fears he has made a mistake.
"I am sorry, Lady – I am sorry, Shmi, I should not have put this on you," he says. "My fears could well prove to be nothing more than that, the Zabrak nothing more than an admittedly very dangerous dark-sider. I have given you reason to worry when, as yet, there is none."
"No," she says with startling firmness. "You have given me a form of clarity. Incomplete, perhaps, but there is much that you do not know. More, maybe, that you may not share with an outsider."
She says this without judgement, though Qui-Gon still winces a little.
"And you do not seem to be someone who jumps at shadows, Qui-Gon," she continues. "You have said yourself that you know those who use the Dark Side. This Zabrak worries you. As you say, he is different. And at the same time, your instincts warn you with stories from your childhood." She looks at him very seriously. "I do not know how it is among the Jedi, but among my people, those kinds of stories are not told without reason." Her gaze shifts to her children. "And while I do not know much of the Jedi, my own experience has told me to trust the instincts of those with… gifts."
She looks up at him, eyes firm and full of a banked ferocity.
"I now know that I need to be watchful for the sake of my children," she says. "You have warned me of the scope of this threat, both through what you have said and what you have not. You have told me things that may save my life, and those of my children. For that, I thank you."
Her gaze softens as he looks at her in frank astonishment.
"I also believe that you needed to speak of it. The Queen is brave and clever, but she is still little more than a child, as are her handmaidens. Her guards…" She looks pensive. "Her guards may not be best placed to understand. I think they see such matters as being the burden of you and your Padawan alone."
"They are," Qui-Gon says, faintly embarrassed.
"And your Padawan is young, too," Shmi continues. "Whatever nightmares haunt you will haunt him all the more if you put this upon him."
"They would," Qui-Gon concedes. "If he did not dismiss them outright." At her surprised look, which also seems to be a little affronted on his behalf, he chuckles. "I have a reputation as something of an eccentric, as Jedi go," he explains. "I am somewhat unorthodox in my methods and philosophies. Partly because of that, my Padawan feels the need to be very orthodox, even if it is not entirely in his nature, and orthodoxy holds that this particular nightmare was purged from the galaxy over a thousand years go. He would be sceptical, and with reason – I am the one who faced it head on, the one with the experience to discern the differences in the darkness, and even I am not certain of what I felt."
"He should trust you," Shmi says, frowning, and Qui-Gon thinks he understands. She is from a society where knowledge is passed from generation to generation by elders, repositories of vital knowledge and wisdom, and in an environment like Tatooine, trusting that knowledge and experience can be the difference between life and death.
"He does," Qui-Gon explains. "Without hesitation. But not without question, and for that, I am grateful. Obi-Wan would not deny that the Zabrak is a deadly threat, strong in the Dark Side, and skilled besides. He would act accordingly. However, he would question what I believe him to be, and what that would represent, and he would have grounds to do so."
Shmi considers this, then slowly nods her understanding.
"I am glad that I have, if not reassured you, then at least warned you," Qui-Gon says. "If you have need of anything, or if either of your children shows any sign of disordered sleep or waking, then call for me or my Padawan, though I think it unlikely. I would advise you get some rest yourself."
"I shall," Shmi says. "Thank you, Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon hesitates. "You are welcome," he says, though the words do not feel right coming off his tongue.
She notices and meets his gaze once more. "What we want to know is not the same as what we need," she says simply, before turning back to her children.
As he leaves, Qui-Gon reflects that it is good advice.
And on that note, I leave you with this - the mysterious dread of the returning Sith... and cute moments with Qui-Gon opening up and being kind.